


Two One One Sam

by zetuslapetus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8561377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetuslapetus/pseuds/zetuslapetus
Summary: Bankrobber Lydia meets F.B.I Agent Stilinski somewhere between California and West Arizona.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is a standalone preview - an AU I posted to tumblr ages ago. More to come soon.

She slides across the red leather of the booth with a certain grace he’ll never have. Elbows on the table and fingers entwined like she’s praying at an altar. He looks up from his burger and almost chokes. She gives him a small, knowing smile and arches an eyebrow at him when he coughs.

He drops the burger on the plastic tray in front of him and grabs a handful of napkins to wipe his mouth. 

“I thought you were smarter than this,” he says quietly, not moving. “I could have the locals in here in - “ he pauses mid-sentence when he realizes he’s not telling her anything she doesn’t already know.

“Fifteen minutes,” she nods at him, almost mockingly. “On a good day.” 

Marfa, Texas is not exactly known for its bustling police force, or much of anything really. 

He grabs the plastic cup of water and takes a sip. “Why are you here?” 

She tilts her head and her red curls tumble off her shoulder.

“The banks, I understand, even Tacoma,” he winces internally at the thought of his shoulder. “This doesn’t make any sense. You’re too smart to take a chance out here in the open.”

He can see her eyes drift down to his arm, which is currently snug against his body in a very tight and uncomfortable F.B.I. standard issue arm cast. 

“Maybe I felt bad,” she hums. 

He barks out a laugh, catching the waitress’ attention.

“You didn’t feel bad when you shot me, at point blank,” he mumbles the last part.

“You gave me no choice, you - “

“I had you,” he shakes his head, “You always have a choice, and you chose to shoot me.”

When she leans across the table he has to stifle his instinct to flinch away. 

“You think you know me, Agent Stilinski,” she reaches out, grabs the edge of his tie and gives it a sharp tug.

“I do know you, that's why you’re here.” He snaps.

She hums and lets go of the tie, tucks it back into place and stands up. “Maybe I’m just curious,” she shrugs.

“You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat,” he says and it's meant to be a threat or at least that's what it sounded like in his head but she’s smiling at him.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” she says and she’s gone. He doesn’t even bother looking back or reaching for his phone, instead, he waves for the waitress and gets pie.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't react to her best friends name, and he’s not sure if he expected her to.
> 
> It’s been three weeks since they buried her. Stiles knows, he was there, parked in his rental several hundred feet away. Lydia fell off the grid and never came back.
> 
> “Call who you need to call, Agent Stilinski because I know you’re not authorized to offer me a deal,” she smirks.

The dry heat of Texas is brutal. The cracked leather of the steering wheel scrapes against Stiles’ palm as he pulls the rental into a corner spot. He puts the car into park, leans back into the seat and lets out a deep sigh.

He feels the beginnings of a headache sprouting right between his eyes, and something else equally unpleasant in his stomach. Tugging on his tie with one hand, he reaches across the passenger's seat and pops the glove compartment open with his other hand.

The dash creaks as the compartment flops open with a heavy clunk and a mobile phone comes into view. With a groan at the strain, Stiles leans forwards and grabs the phone. In a few moments, it powers on and begins flashing and beeping with incoming messages and missed calls.

There's a black rucksack on the passenger's seat, strewn on top of a dirty Manila folder. Ignoring the phone, Stiles plops it into the front pocket of the sack and zips it up haphazardly. Collecting the folder and the bag, he turns the car off and steps out with a wince. His left-hand snaps to his right side in pain and he slowly breathes in and out a few times before kicking the door of the rental closed.

He digs a key out of his pant pocket and starts his ascent up an old metal staircase, the paint chipping off the handlebars. He fumbles with the door for a moment before he gets it open and he's greeted by a dark, surprisingly cool room considering the blaze outside. He drops his bag and flips the light on. It takes him some time to disrobe, first his coat and then the tie. Then, one by one, he pops the buttons of his starchy dress shirt open. He easily slips it off his good arm, then he reaches across his body and cautiously slips the rest of the shirt off. He groans quietly when he stretches the stiff muscles in his bad shoulder.

“That didn’t sound good,” she whispers and he freezes, heart thumping against his chest. His good arm comes down to his holster and he pops the clasp off his handgun. Slowly, he turns around, hand still on the holster.

She's sitting in the farthest, darkest corner of the room. In a chair he's pretty sure he left in the bathroom.

This is about the time it dawns on him that he's topless, standing in just a pair of dress pants, and a gun he has no plans to use. She’s wearing another sundress, her hair braided to the side. It takes everything he has to not look down at her long, pale legs.

She eyes his hand on the holster and then her eyes drift up, across his chest and to his shoulder. There's an ugly scar there, he knows. Big and still pink, smack in the middle of his shoulder. She uncrosses her legs and stands, eyes meeting his and he can only imagine how tired he must look. When he realizes she's moved closer he shakes his head and takes a step back.

“Don't,” is all he can say. His hand drops from his holster, and he grabs the shirt he just took off. While she watches, he slowly slips one arm back in, then the other. “What do you want from me?”

It’s quiet for some time, he doesn’t know how long, but she’s an arm's length away and he thinks he can almost smell her.

“Whatever you can give me.” She finally says.

He frowns at that. He’s tired. It's been months of this back-and-forth, cat and mouse game, and he’s tired. Before he can voice his frustrations with this _thing_ they do, she extends her arm out to him, fingers balled in a fist. Slowly, her fingers unravel, and in the palm of her hand is a small black thumb drive.

“What is that?”

“Paper trails on almost every job, Argent’s personal ledgers. It's not enough for - “ she pauses and lifts her chin, as if in defiance of something, “I will give you everything I have, but I need a deal.”

His stomach drops. This is it. He wants to reach out and grab the thumb drive, grab her, but his legs don't move. That same part of him that makes him so damn good at this job, the gut feeling that's saved his life countless times, it's screaming at him.

_Too easy. Don’t trust her._

It’s been months of trailing after her, countless cities, Reno, L.A., Phoenix. Getting just close enough before she slips away.

“What’s exactly do you have?”

She huffs at that.

“Every single job I planned for them, I have enough to put Argent away for life.”

“Why now Lydia?” He asks with a shake of his head.

“You know why.”

She’s right, he does. He takes a moment to really look at her. She’s tired too. She’s a shadow of the girl he met six months ago.

“Allison.” He says.

She doesn't react to her best friends name, and he’s not sure if he expected her to.

It’s been three weeks since they buried her. Stiles knows, he was there, parked in his rental several hundred feet away. Lydia fell off the grid and never came back.

“Call who you need to call, Agent Stilinski because I know you’re not authorized to offer me a deal,” she smirks.

His fingers twitch at that, he wonders where he stashed his phone and tries to remember the protocol for this.

She tosses the thumb drive at him and he catches it against his chest.

“If you want this, you can’t run again.”

“I have nowhere to run to,” she says and takes a step to the bed - his bed. The sheets still rumpled from last night and his sleep shorts hanging off the edge and she plops down.

He eyes the perfectly comfortable chair she was just seated in moments ago and pushes all thoughts out of his head other than making contact with headquarters and not fucking this up.

He squats to the backpack on the floor and fishes his phone out. When he looks up, all he sees are legs. She’s leaning back on the bed, legs crossed and she’s looking down at him. He can't read her face and he forces himself to look away.

He doesn't say anything when he leaves the room. He steps outside in the hallway, closes the door and leans back against it. He quickly dials a number and waits. When the line on the other side picks up, a familiar voice crackles into his ear.

“Agent Stilinski, I hope you’re calling to tell me you’re back in California.”

Stiles frowns and lets his head fall back against the door of the room with a quiet thump. He’s well aware that he’s three days behind schedule and a field report short.

“No, sir. I’m still in Texas. I'm an hour outside of El Paso and I have Lydia Martin.”

A beat passes before Alan Deaton’s voice comes on the line again.

“You have Lydia Martin in custody?”

“Sir, she’s asking to come in, she has - “ he pauses, looks down at the thumb drive in his hand and realizes he doesn't actually know what she has.

“I need to see what she has.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stay where you are, Agent Stilinski, I need to notify the Marshalls.”

“But, sir - “ he begins but Deaton interrupts him.

“If she wants to come in, she will do so under the protection of the U.S. Marshalls. Your job is done, Agent Stilinski,” he pauses for a moment before adding, “Good job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Stand by, I will make contact once we’ve reviewed what she has.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hangs up and swallows the lump in his throat, fighting the anger threatening to bubble inside of him. _This_ is the protocol, once she’s made her deal, he will hand her off to the U.S. Marshalls and he’ll be done.

He pockets the phone and reaches for the door. She’s still on the bed, same as he left her. When she hears the door, she looks up from her nails and arches an eyebrow at him. He steps inside and doesn't move closer.

“I need to send whatever is on here to headquarters,” he holds up the thumb drive. “More than likely U.S. Marshalls will meet us and take you in.”

She sits up at that. “How soon?”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head and walks over the laptop on his nightstand. He grabs it and takes a seat at the chair, away from her.

The laptop powers on quickly and he jabs the thumb drive in after a few tries. There’s only one folder on the drive, labeled today's date and he almost guffaws out loud when he opens it. Every single job she’d ever planned, spanning before he even began working her case is listed. Seventeen PDF files titled by the street name of each bank she’d targeted. He opens the last job, Hamilton Ave and begins reading. He finds blueprints of the building, detailed rotation schedule of all employees, background checks of each security guard. Camera footage spanning weeks before the job, which he isn't even sure how she got her hands on.

He encrypts the file, just in case. Attaches it to an email and sends it on its way.

Before an awkward silence can set in, she speaks.

“I just want to know one thing.”

He looks up at her and closes the laptop.

“I could never figure out how you found me. Allison, I understand, but I was so careful to not leave anything behind.”

He can’t help the smile that pulls at his mouth.

“The Arizona job on - “ he pauses and squints, trying to remember. “Pearl Avenue.”

She shakes her head, not understanding.

“There was a Peyton 5000 Safe in the bank. They’d opened it, taken whatever was inside, but what didn’t make sense to me was _how_ they’d opened it. Every single time they’d come across a safe on previous jobs they drilled to crack it, but not this one. So, I did some research and it turns out you can crack a safe with math.”

Her mouth drops open slightly, and she’s figured it out. He smiles and continues.

“I’d done research on Alison before, and I knew she went to USC. Turns out she had a roommate, Lydia Martin, who just so happened to Doctor in Mathematics.”

She crosses her arms and frowns slightly. His grin grows.

“I’ve read everything you’ve ever written. Didn’t understand any of it, but I’ve read it.” He shrugs.

His stomach growls and he realizes it's been hours since he’d last eaten.

“There’s a burger place across the street, we should grab some food, who knows how long it'll be before they call us in." He stands up, and touches his back pocket, making sure his wallet is in place. When she doesn't make a move to stand up, he steps closer to her and speaks again. "Protocol states that I can't let you out of my sight until you're in U.S. Marshall's custody."

She rolls her eyes at that and stands up. He's a lot closer to her than he realized, and she takes another step towards him. Flips the braid off her shoulder and offers her wrists to him, palms up, mimicking as if he's got handcuffs on her.

"Funny." He smirks at that, reaches around her and grabs his coat off the floor.

 

 


End file.
